


Jesus of Suburbia

by Unforth



Series: Tumblr Ficlets: Supernatural [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 10:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Ficlet written to the prompt: a Destiel AU with Dean/Cas/happiness where the apocalypse was never a plot line and instead of Dean going to find Sam at Stanford, Sam makes the effort to find Dean. Don't care how or why, just that for the first time he's sees his brother happy, and in a way he never expected.





	Jesus of Suburbia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Agiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agiel/gifts).



> From time to time I put out calls for prompts, and I fill them! This story is a prompt fill for Agiel, who sent me this request:  
> So how about instead a Destiel AU with Dean/Cas/happiness where the apocalypse was never a plot line and instead of Dean going to find Sam at Stanford, Sam makes the effort to find Dean. Don't care how or why, just that for the first time he's sees his brother happy, and in a way he never expected. And maybe realizes how much of a dick he was to the guy who actually raised him. Dean can be a hunter or be out of the life and Cas can be an angel, human, or what have you, but mostly I just want Dean to be HAPPY and LOVED.
> 
> Interested in requesting a prompt of your own? I have an AO3 post where I periodically take prompts, so subscribe to me or subscribe to the "[Call for Prompts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11408007)" post, and next time I ask for prompts, why not [drop me a note](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/ask)?

Taking a deep breath, Sam pressed the brake on his car and checked his GPS again. He’d already circled the block three times, unable to believe the obsequious pre-recorded voice on his phone had steered him correctly.

This…this suburban stereotype, complete with white picket fences and neighbors washing cars in driveways and perfectly manicured lawns…

… _this_ was where Dean lived?

_Inconceivable._

It had taken Sam months of research to track his brother down, days upon days with a low background buzz of anxiety, an endless litany of fear suggesting that when Sam finally found Dean, all he’d find was a grave.

But no.

He’d found this prosaic reality instead.

The neighborhood was composed of artfully laid out winding streets that led nowhere. At least it wasn’t a real Levittown; the snug houses were each unique, built at different times, and the neat Cape Cod style house that was supposedly Dean’s had a nice-sized lot, tucked between a brick house and a ridiculous white colonnaded monstrosity.

 _For those neighbors_ alone _I can’t believe Dean would move here._

The house was small, square, two stories, painted white with black trim and red shutters. The roof was in perfect repair, there wasn’t a fleck of peeling paint, and the porch steps were perfectly straight and even. Four hanging baskets of colorful plants dangled at regular intervals from the eaves, and electric candles, off during the day, sat on the upstairs window sills.

There was _absolutely no fucking way_ that Dean Winchester lived in this house.

Sam shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. Parked across the street, he stared for long minutes, trying to process what he saw. A group of girls went by on bicycles, laughing and chatting and navigating weaving lines together. A dog walked off-leash beside his owner, pausing to lift a leg and pee on supposedly-Dean’s mailbox post, trotting after the trusting woman who hadn’t slowed. A man wearing sandals with socks mowed his entire front lawn, disappeared behind his house, returned wearing goggles and hefting a weed whacker.

Sandals. With. Socks.

The urge to start the engine and drive away again surged powerfully. Sam had reasons he wanted to find Dean – _good_ reasons, important reasons, why after almost a decade he’d sought his brother out but this…this had to be some kind of mistake, some huge cosmic joke at Sam’s expense.

The front door of supposedly-Dean’s house opened.

Someone who definitely wasn’t Dean stepped out.

The man was tall, dark haired, and his piercing stare was fixed in Sam’s direction. His hair was disheveled but his outfit was immaculate, ironed slacks, a black button-up shirt, a paisley vest and a clashing red tie. His hands were balled into fists, and he strode towards Sam’s car like he intended to walk _through_ the vehicle if Sam didn’t move first.

Swallowing hard, Sam rolled down his window.

“Hi, um, I was wondering if—”

A hand reached through the opening, seized the front of Sam’s shirt and hauled him to the window. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” asked the man, his voice lower and gruffer than Sam expected. Cloth bit into Sam’s neck and he choked on his reply. An enormous man pushing a tiny dog in a baby stroller stopped and quirked his head, watching curiously.

“Nothing,” Sam managed. “I just—”

“I don’t believe you,” the man interrupted. “You’ve cased the house, driving by six times, and now you’ve been sitting here for 15 minutes. _What do you want_?”

“Dean!” squawked Sam. “Lookin’…for…Dean!”

“Why?” asked the man suspiciously. “Are you a hunter?”

“No! God, no!” The grip on Sam’s shirt eased and he drew in a quavering breath, lifting a hand to massage at his throat. “I’m his brother.”

“You’re Sam Winchester.” The man’s affect when totally flat, his disbelief evident in the neutrality of his tone.

“Yeah.”

“Impossible,” said the man.

Sam shrugged. “I would have said it’d be impossible for Dean to live in a place like this, and yet…it’s not for a case, is it?”

“No,” the man said, eyes narrowing. “Dean doesn’t do that anymore.”

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed. The man’s eyes narrowed even more. “No, I mean – good! I’m not here about a case either.”

“Then why are you here?” demanded the man.

 _Nope, enough Sam the punching bag. I’ve answered plenty of questions, I deserve a few answers of my own_.

“Is Dean really here?” asked Sam.

“Answer my question.”

“And who are you exactly?” Sam said defiantly.

“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord, and you _will_ answer me.”

Sam could swear lightning cracked behind the man – the _angel_ – out of the clear blue sky.

The man with the poodle in the baby stroller rolled his eyes and kept walking.

The weed whacker buzzed loudly to life.

_Maybe this neighborhood isn’t as ordinary as I thought._

“There’s no such thing as angels,” said Sam.

“Your lack of faith is disturbing but does nothing to affect the actuality of my existence,” Castiel replied. “Nor does it increase the chances that I’ll permit you to speak with Dean. He’s worked too hard for you to—”

“Yo, Cas, what’s up with the fireworks?” called an achingly familiar voice. “Everything o—”

“Damn,” Castiel – _Cas? Dean gave the angel a damn nickname?_ – blasphemed. Fixing a smile on his stern face so quickly Sam got whiplash, Castiel wheeled around. “Everything’s fine, Dean. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Woah. Woah woah woah…is that…” Boots stomping over sidewalk spoke to Dean’s rapid approach, and then bright light fell on Sam’s face as Castiel was rudely, roughly shoved aside and Dean stood before him. “Sam?” Dean breathed.

“Hey, Dean,” said Sam weakly.

“Cas – were you…were you gonna keep this from me?” said Dean, wheeling on the angel.

_More inconceivable things._

_I keep using that word._

_Clearly I don’t know what it means._

“Is this truly Sam Winchester?” Castiel countered.

“Fuck…good point… _are_ you my brother?”

“Our initials are carved into the Impala.”

“Cristo.”

“I’m not possessed, Dean.”

“Holy shit, Sam…” Dean broke into the widest, happiest grin that Sam had ever seen on his face, wheeled on Castiel and caught him exuberantly in his arms. “Cas, it’s Sam! My brother, Sam!”

“Yes, and I appreciate that you are pleased, but I’d still like to know why he’s here,” said Castiel, giving Sam a reprimanding look.

“I’m here ‘cause…”

Dean turned to him, all smiles, clearly beyond thrilled to see Sam, and Sam’s nerves about this meeting ebbed away.

“I’m here ‘cause there’s something that’s been eating at me for the last ten years,” Sam said. “Dean – I’m sorry.”

“For what?” asked Dean blankly.

“Oh, all kinds of things,” said Sam with a humorless chuckle. “Starting with storming out and leaving you alone with dad, ending with every time I compared you to him, with scads more examples in between.”

“Whatever,” scoffed Dean. “It’s all good, we were kids and—”

“Dean.”

The word echoed, and Sam realized that Castiel had spoken at the same time Sam had, that they were giving Dean matching skeptical looks. Dean shrugged and looked away.

“Okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t always…but bygones or something…how about this? We’ve got burgers on the grill and Bud on ice. Maybe…maybe come on in? We can crack open a couple cold ones and talk it over?” Dean suggested with a hopeful smile.

“I’d…I’d like that,” said Sam.

“Awesome!” Dean traipsed – literally fricken _traipsed ­_ – back to the porch.

“If you take this happiness from Dean, if you hurt my husband in anyway, I will annihilate you so completely that no two atoms will remain in the same galaxy,” said Castiel.

A jackalope hopped across the street.

 _This neighborhood is_ definitely _not normal._

_Wait...husband?_

 

“I’d never do anything to hurt Dean – never again,” Sam vowed.

_Well, then._

“Good.”

Castiel waited as Sam emerged from his car, and they walked side by side down the path leading to the porch steps. There wasn’t a creak even as the wooden steps took both their weight, and as they approached the front door, Castiel turned to him, a solemn expression on his face.

“I have one more critical question for you,” said Castiel.

_Uh oh._

“Cheddar cheese or American cheese on your hamburger?”

“Huh?”

“Dean thinks American cheese is appropriate for…anything,” Castiel continued, shaking his head. “Disgusting reprocessed cheese product. So, I must know – is this a Winchester malfunction?”

“Oh – God, no – cheddar!” Sam managed.

Castiel broke into a wide grin.

“Excellent.” He threw open the door. “Welcome to our home, Sam.”

“Thank you, Castiel.”

“Sammy!” Dean appeared with a plate of burgers in one hand, buns in the other, a basket of condiments dangling from where he held it by the handle.

_I think…maybe…everything is going to be alright…_

_That’s also inconceivable…_

_…but I’m glad._

“Cheddar, please.”

“Heathen.”

“He doesn’t believe in angels, Dean.”

“Double heathen!”

Sam laughed, as genuinely as he had since Jess died.

Everything would be _fine_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at [unforth-ninawaters](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com).


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